


A Second Time Around

by Tub



Series: Kyla: Red Light Series [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17740091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tub/pseuds/Tub
Summary: Staldar falls in love for the second time. This time, he doesn't hide.(Non-canonical.)





	A Second Time Around

 

 

The first time Staldar hears the passing whispers in the Red Hand’s base of operations, he doesn't pay it much mind. He's not one to care about rumors, gossip, and hearsay. Even if he is the subject at hand, he knows there's little point in getting involved. But with alarming frequency he catches his name and Tosa’s uttered together with lecherous smiles and chuckles.  _ That _ finally peaks his curiosity (and some ire).

 

Staldar begins to listen more carefully to these hushed murmurs, and overhears the most while in the improvised barracks, cleaning Filkiati. It always starts the same way-- a pair or group chatting casually, one or more taking notice of the large dragonborn across the way, believing he can't hear. “That’s Staldar. Have you met him yet? He’s so intimidating…” This line of talk meanders a bit, sharing different points of view.

 

“Aw, c’mon, he’s just rough around the edges, he’s not so bad.”

“You’re just saying that cause he’s so big, strong, and  _ rugged _ .”

“You just haven’t seen him do his morning exercise routine without all that armor on! Talk about muscles. And that big  _ sword _ \--”

 

This devolves into guffaws between all the chit-chatters. If the dragonborn could blush any harder… But the conversation doesn’t end there.

 

“But I’m serious, he might have been a bit cold at first, sometimes he can be gruff, but he’s been a huge help around here. He’s just the  _ reeeeal _ stoic type.”

“Well, hope you don’t have your heart set on him or nothin’. Tosa’s got him wrapped around his finger.”

“Wait, really? Are you sure they're…?”

“ _ Pshaw,  _ I can't see how they  _ aren't! _ Staldar is at Tosa’s beck n’ call, will do just about anything he says. And you must have noticed all the time they spend together, not to mention  _ nights _ .”

“Isn't Staldar his… I dunno, ‘tactical advisor’ or something? Of course they spend a lot of time together!”

“Look, I just know, what they got-- It ain't purely professional. I saw them leave together one night, and when they came back, they were looking awfully disheveled. Tosa was all flush --well, y’know, for a drow-- hair messed up, and Staldar was looking pretty worn out, but even weirder was-- have you ever seen Staldar smile?”

“Uh, no, not that I can think of. He’s always got that super serious expression, like he's doin’ equations in his head.”

“Yeah, well, that night, Staldar looked… real  _ pleased _ . Had this little smile he kept trying to hide.”

“Oh, that's pretty suspect. Maybe you're right…”

 

Heart pounding a bit too hard and fast, Staldar tunes out the rest of the conversation. Staldar immediately knows which night they’re referring to. It was the night Tosa invited him out to a covert spot out on the rooftops. Under the night sky, looking out over New Kyla,Tosa had asked Staldar if he would do the honor of leading the final charge, when it came to it. Staldar's answer was yes. The gossip had one thing right; the list of things Staldar would not do for Tosa is a very short list. Tosa then requested a sparring match, to Staldar's surprise and pleasure. The deft drow kept him on his toes, and ultimately beat Staldar, though it was a close thing. The fight had been… fun. Something familiar. Intimate in a strange way. Staldar rarely felt so light, had even laughed and joked with Tosa about being bested. Before that night, Staldar couldn't remember the last time he laughed and smiled like that.

 

To hear one of his fondest memories being interpreted so incorrectly, and so lewdly, profoundly disturbs Staldar. He begins to analyze all of his interactions with Tosa in his mind. Did their few, chaste touches linger? Did their eyes meet for just a little too long? How could anyone come to  _ that  _ conclusion?

 

Deciding that line of thought is an exercise in futility, Staldar ponders on his feelings towards the drow. He first admits that Tosa is, well, rather handsome, well-kempt, but this seems obvious. If a pretty face were all it took to sway Staldar, his life would be quite different. Staldar knows that, currently, he trusts Tosa over anyone else. And, as far as Staldar could tell, Tosa seemed to be of a similar opinion towards him.

 

Then, Staldar thinks of the mission to find Folduin, only to learn the man had been dead all along. To be trusted with something of that nature and for it to end so tragically. To be a deliverer of such pain. It was something he was not unfamiliar with; being a marshall meant sometimes being the one to tell families their loved one had fallen in combat or an accident. But unlike those times, so detached from those families, Staldar ached for Tosa, empathised in a way he normally wouldn’t.

 

Staldar watched Tosa mourn. Staldar watched Tosa begin to heal. Still, he sees the pain behind the drow’s eyes, and it fills Staldar with something tumultuous. Guilt, but also something complicated,not quite fear, not quite envy. But Staldar knows it's a self-serving, ugly sort of feeling, one he dislikes.

 

In the end, Staldar still has no idea how he feels.

 

Staldar then realizes that he has no idea how Tosa feels about him either. Surely nothing  _ romantic _ , right? Especially after Folduin’s place in his life. But what of friendship? Staldar is honestly not sure how to gauge this. The only comparable experience he has to go on is Yorsashi, and, well…

 

Staldar tries to let it go, finding the entire thing frustrating and pointless, but it continues to nag. At the point of joining the Red Hand, he wouldn't have claimed a single soul as his friend, but now, now he wasn't sure. Much has changed, probably himself most of all. Now, he could consider at least a few folks as friends, if not at the very least, personal allies.

 

When it comes Tosa, however, there are… complexities. Firstly being their roles in the Red Hand. Tosa tends to make a point of keeping things less formal than what Staldar is used to, but there inarguably  _ is  _ a hierarchy, and Tosa is at the top. Could they really be friends, or is it just… a leader trying to improve morale, create a rapport between them? Staldar's initial instinct convinces him of the latter, but Staldar's secondary thoughts conflict with this.

 

‘ _ Things… were so much simpler before, _ ’ Staldar thinks exhaustedly.

* * *

A few days pass, and the overheard rumors and his ponderings still give him pause. It apparently shows, as Tosa conveys concern during one of their planning sessions.

 

They had gone back and forth for some time, and now hit a patch of silence as Tosa begins revising notes, hastily scrawling new ones, poring over everything once more. Staldar simply sits quietly, not even noticing as his thoughts stray from the task at hand, his expression becoming distant.

 

Tosa looks up from his scribbling, seemingly about to say something, but stops upon seeing the far away look Staldar's face. “Staldar?” Disconcertingly, the dragonborn seems not to hear this. “Staldar!” This catches his attention, and he looks to Tosa with a start.

 

“My apologies, Si-- Tosa.”

 

“No need to apologize, but are you well? It's unlike you to drift like that. You seem rather preoccupied, or perhaps tired. We can adjourn for the evening if you would like.” Tosa places his pen on his ‘desk,’ some crates with a wide plank of wood atop, steepling his fingers and watching Staldar with concerned eyes. Staldar would squirm under that look if he weren't made of sterner stuff.

 

“I am well and rested, but thank you for your concern. I am fine to continue as usual.” Staldar meets Tosa’s look with what he hopes is reassurance. Tosa gives a soft, thoughtful hum and leans back in his seat.

 

“Not to press the issue, but I just wish for you to know that you may talk to me about, well, anything, really. I don't mind lending an ear. That is, should you want to talk.” Tosa has that gentle, warm smile that he often wears. It’s sincere, and effectively disarming. Staldar considers this for a moment before sighing.

 

“I have… what may seem like a very strange question.”

 

“Well, I can try my best to answer it.”

 

“What do you think of me?” This takes Tosa by surprise, eyebrows raising as he processes the question. Then he gives a good natured chuckle. 

 

“Well, I think you're loyal. Driven. Rather skilled, intelligent. You're strong, in both mind and body--” Staldar can't take this, overwhelmed by the sudden praise, and interrupts him with a shake of his head.

 

“I appreciate your… endorsements, Tosa, but I was too imprecise with my question. I meant to ask you, what am I to you?” Tosa's smile falters into a concerned look again.

 

“I'm not sure I follow,” Tosa murmurs. Staldar suppresses a growl at his own ineptitude at communicating. 

 

“Do you consider me a friend?” Staldar finds he can no longer meet the drow's eyes, feeling a wash of embarrassment at the childish question, and turns his head. It's quiet for a beat, but then Tosa laughs, and now it's Staldar's turn to look at him in confusion.

 

“Oh, of course, Staldar, of course I think of you as a friend! I'm sorry that you ever had any doubt! But, I must ask in return, did you not think us friends?”

 

Staldar opens his mouth to reply but closes it again, and finds it difficult to meet Tosa’s gaze once more. 

 

“I-- that is, if the feeling is mutual-- I'm not averse to--” Staldar takes a deep breath, then slowly releases any icy puff of steam, trying to gather his thoughts. “I would find a friendship between us… favorable…” 

 

“I'm glad! But what caused you to dwell on such a thing? I hope it wasn't something I did or said.”

 

“No, not at all. It was… my own ruminations. I had not meant to overthink it so.” Staldar pauses before adding, quietly. “I'm admittedly unfamiliar with, ah…”

 

“Friendship?”

 

“... Yes.” Tosa just nods at the admission. Then, with an air of finality, begins to shuffle and roll up all the documents sprawled around him. “Sir-- I mean, Tosa?”

 

“We can pick up where we’ve left off tomorrow. For now, I would like to speak of less serious, more pleasant things, if you’ll humor me. We’ve both been rather busy, I’d enjoy just… catching up, wouldn’t you?” Staldar suddenly  _ sees  _ Tosa, takes in all the details he had glossed over before. Hair still neatly combed as always, still well groomed, but there’s no hiding the exhaustion in his eyes, the slope of his sagging shoulders, ink stained fingers. Staldar feels a swell of protective instinct for the man, but also something between adoration and pride. ‘ _ Of all of us, he works the absolute hardest… _ ’

 

“Of course, Tosa.”

 

They spend the rest of the evening simply talking. Staldar spends it trying to wrangle the full, tender feeling blooming in his chest.

* * *

Staldar is no fool. Naive, perhaps, when it comes to feelings and expressing them, but he is no simpleton. And it’s with a healthy dose of dread that he realizes that his feelings for Tosa are perhaps more intense than he had originally thought them to be. And he learns this when Tosa leaves one night on some private business, and does not return until well after he is expected to, and rather the worse for wear. In that time, Staldar knows he’s unbearable to be around, but can’t seem to relax. He questions folks around the base like Alice and Tara relentlessly for possible information of his whereabouts. Of course, since his task was kept even from them, they have no answers, and Staldar is left feeling helpless. With no way to contact him, no way to find him, Staldar is a sitting duck, and there is nothing more infuriating to him.

 

Staldar becomes restless, sleeps less at night for fear that he will miss Tosa’s return, takes to pacing and exercising even more at odd hours to work out the frustration and stay alert. He becomes snappish, impatient, a general terror around the base. Until, finally, Tosa does turn up.

 

It’s late, the wee hours of the morning before dawn, a steady, heavy rain having set in. Staldar can’t sleep, even after doing several sets of crunches, so he pulls on his gambeson and takes to walking circles around the dimly lit base. He’s on his third lap when he sees a dark, cloaked figure move a few meters ahead. Staldar’s tenses at the sight, then recognizes the figure as Tosa, breath catching in his throat. Tosa, head bowed, sways, stumbling, not quite falling. Staldar rushes over, steadying the soaked drow.

 

“Sir--”

 

“Staldar… Not here. My quarters. Please.”

 

Tosa’s voice is thin with fatigue. His face mostly obscured by his hood, but Staldar can see his usual modest coif is slicked down by rain water, strands sticking to his forehead, droplets falling from his nose and chin. Staldar eases off a bit but then catches Tosa as he trips over his own feet. Staldar hisses out a “hold on,” before quickly lifting Tosa, one arm supporting his back, the other his knees. The movement causes the hood to fall back, exposing Tosa’s ashen, weary face. Tosa looks ready to protest, but it dies on his lips, and he tiredly concedes. Staldar ignores the cold water now dripping down his arms, saturating his sleeves and front.

 

Even to a very under-rested Staldar, it is no hardship to carry the grown drow (drenched and all) to his quarters, and with haste. Staldar carefully pushes the door open with a shoulder, trying not to accidentally jostle or bump Tosa. Once inside, door shut, Staldar very carefully assists Tosa onto the makeshift bed, then fumbles about in the dark, finding an oil lamp which he quickly lights.

 

“Are you injured?”

 

“Not badly, but, my ankle--” Tosa starts divesting himself of offending articles, cloak, gloves, vambraces, and greaves, tossing them to the floor, a puddle slowly forming. Staldar gives a cursory look about the cluttered room.

 

“Do you keep any medical supplies?”

 

Tosa nods, and pulls a box from beneath the flimsy bed frame. Staldar sorts out a roll of gauze and a bottle of what smells like strong, medicinal alcohol and a clean rag. After struggling to remove his right boot, Tosa noticeably hesitates when it comes to the left. “Let me help with that,” Staldar rumbles. Tosa lays back and lets the dragonborn carefully work the boot off with a cringe of pain. Staldar feels some relief upon seeing that Tosa’s under-tunic and such were mostly spared from the rain, and a hasty change of clothes would not be necessary.

 

“I know why  _ I _ look terrible, but what's  _ your  _ excuse?” Tosa chuckles a bit darkly, but the attempt at levity is met with steely eyes. Staldar begins dampening the cloth with the alcohol.

 

“You did not return at the estimated time. You were gone for days. No known location. No way to contact you. I was concerned for your well being.” Tosa sucks in a breath as Staldar handles and brushes the cloth over the clearly bruised and swollen ankle. Despite the serious expression and tone, Staldar is painstakingly gentle. Tosa sighs and digs through his discarded cloak, trying not to interrupt Staldar’s aid, pulling out a delicate scroll tied with ribbon, miraculously still dry.

 

“Things… did not go as planned. It became dangerous. I couldn't return right away. But it wasn't for naught! This information--”

 

“Damn the information!” Staldar suddenly spits. Tosa is shocked into silence. Staldar growls, ceasing his ministrations to pace a few steps, swiping a hand over his tired eyes. 

 

“Staldar? What's wrong?” Tosa’s voice is quiet, but alarmed. The troubled dragonborn makes a strange sound then, a laugh that turns into a groan.

 

“I had a… colleague… companion. I don't know. But we-- we were in an uncannily similar position. Except he was where I am now. And I was you. Injured, in bed, as he--” Staldar takes a shaking breath. “I thought I understood him, why he… did what he did, but I didn't. I didn't understand him at all. But now…” Staldar bows his head and whispers, “what a gods-damned fool I've been.”  _ Cold… Selfish... _

 

Tosa, propped on his elbows, watches Staldar with a perturbed look.

 

“Staldar?”

 

The large dragonborn slowly returns to his position tending Tosa's ankle, expression carefully neutral. Staldar breathes a chill breath over the affected area and the gauze, causing Tosa to shudder. Staldar begins to wrap the ankle with the chilled bandages.

 

“Sorry. The cold should be good for the pain and swelling. This also needs to stay elevated, at least until you are seen by a healer.” Staldar says this with an unfamiliar docility, softness even.The heat in his tone had flared just a moment before, but apparently fizzled out as quickly as it came. Tosa continues to observe Staldar intently, choosing to stay silent.

 

Finished wrapping the ankle, Staldar stands quietly, taking note of a small, wood-burning stove in the corner, with a few dry logs near. He grabs a fresh log, summons a small flame, and stokes up a small fire. He then begins gathering all the wet items off the ground and lays them out neatly in front of the fire, before stretching out before the fire himself.

 

They sit in silence for several minutes, just listening to the soft crackle of the burning timber. Tosa finally speaks up.

 

“I’m sorry for causing you such distress, Staldar. I don’t deserve your kindness or favors, and yet…” He trails off.

 

“That’s what friends do, is it not?”

 

“Mm. Friends don’t always go so far out of their way help one another. I feel like a very poor friend indeed, by comparison.” Staldar has turned his head to stare at the wall.

 

“Do not feel so badly. I have my own motivations for the things I do. I’m not as selfless as you are making it sound.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Certainly. It would be inconvenient for you to fall ill or remain injured and untreated, for example.”   
  
“Ah, I see. And stoking up the fire? Setting my things out to dry?”

 

“It was no trouble, seeing as I would also like to dry off, no thanks to you.”

 

The blunt, deadpan delivery startled a laugh out of Tosa. Staldar’s head jerks towards the drow, and he frowns.

 

“M-my sincerest apologies,  _ ahaha _ ! It’s just-- you always surprise me, Staldar.” He giggles a bit dizzily to himself for a moment, and Staldar finds himself chuckling at the drows fit of laughter.

 

“Nursemaid one minute, jester the next. Who knew this old dragon could wear so many hats?”

 

“Ahah, I fear I may be a bit delirious. I haven’t been able to meditate since… ah, I don’t know, sometime before I departed.” Staldar starts at this, and stands.

 

“I had not meant to keep you from resting. I will leave you. It is nearly dawn and I should fetch Dahlia so that she may--”

 

“Wait, please. Don't go, not yet. I've had to keep my guard up for days. Your presence is a comfort, truly.” Tosa swallows, and looks anywhere but at Staldar. “I hate to ask anymore of you. You don’t have to stay but… I would be appreciative, if you did.” Staldar considers, watching Tosa’s expression.

 

“As long as I’m not impeding your rest…”

 

“No, no, not at all. If anything, I’ll rest all the easier, knowing I have an ally near.”

 

“... Very well,” Staldar rumbles softly. Tosa’s relief is palpable.

 

“There is a spare bedroll in the chest there, should you want it.” Staldar nods and goes to retrieve it, and snuffs out the lantern.

 

“I’m no stranger to the ground but I’ll accept small creature comforts when offered.”

 

With that, they both settle into quiet, just soft breathing and the sputter of the fire. Staldar, now used to snores and creaking and various other sounds of the night was put off by the hush. Knowing it will be a while yet until sleep finds him, Staldar silently turns to look at Tosa.

 

Staldar has seen many sides of the drow, but this is something new, and very vulnerable. Closed eyes, delicate white lashes fanned across his cheek, face and body lax, damp, tousled hair. In that moment, he looks a little younger, a little less burdened, a little less restrained. It makes Staldar realize he doesn't know Tosa’s true age. He knows, potentially, the dark-elf man could be easily a century old, possibly more, but has the appearance of a human in their late twenties. The thought that Tosa was likely born before him and, with the exception of something tragic, would long outlive him multiple times over is a strange thought. He would never see Tosa grow any older. But, again excepting an early demise, Tosa would likely watch him age, become feeble, fade away… Staldar’s life, a flash in the pan compared to Tosa, a slow-burning wick.

 

Yet, Staldar could not find an ounce of envy in him. Staldar is  _ tired _ . More and more, as the years go on, he wishes he could just… stop. Stop training. Stop fighting. Stop  _ killing. _

 

But, what would he do instead? He simply doesn’t know.

 

Staldar watches Tosa until the embers of the fire go dark. He finally drifts to sleep in the dark, as the sun rises.

* * *

 

Staldar is beside himself. ‘ _ Idiot, idiot…!’ _ He’d made a fool of himself, could feel the burn of it under his thick skin.

 

Moments before, everything had been fine, more or less.

 

Staldar and Tosa were once again going over plans, new information, new maps, discussing possible leads to follow. More and more this was becoming their entire days, cooped up, deliberating, raking over every detail with a fine tooth comb.

 

The atmosphere had become tense, the weight of their burdens driving the conversation. Staldar by this point, has no sense of the time, but knows they have been at it for hours. Tosa, as usual, somehow manages on very little rest.

 

Tosa has to shuffle through some stacks of papers to find something when a faded, folded up slip of paper falls out of one of the piles. It flutters down and lands by Staldar’s feet, so the dragonborn leans over and takes it gently between two claws. Right away he recognizes Folduin’s handwriting. He holds it out to Tosa, hoping he doesn’t take notice, but of course he does, and Staldar sees the throb of pain Tosa attempts to hide. The drow nods his thanks, slips the paper into a pocket, and continues his search.

 

There’s something left unsaid that hangs in the space between them. Staldar, in a fit of desperation to break the tension, does not say what he meant to say, but something… entirely unexpected.

 

"Sir-- Tosa, I know I'm... You don't have to be... Sir, I would humbly ask you to consider taking me as your mate if that is something you desire."

 

Tosa startles, watching Staldar for a moment, while Staldar also processes what he’s just done.

 

Then Tosa laughs. Surprised, gasping laughter, bordering on hysterics fills the room. The drow wipes a little moisture from the corners of his eyes. Staldar is still a bit agog, trying to parse what had just happened. Tosa finally catches his breath.

 

“Oh! Oh, Staldar, you have the, the strangest sense of humor! You always catch me off guard!” Tosa goes back to his task, still chuckling to himself, shaking his head. Staldar's heart sinks, a wash of embarrassment, heartache, a slew of unpleasant thoughts threatening to overwhelm him, but he maintains his composure.

 

Tosa finds the document he was looking for with an “aha” and begins talking at Staldar about its contents. Staldar, however, can't focus on a single word. ‘ _ Of course he thinks it's a joke. Why wouldn't he? You have nothing to offer him. What can an old, broken, cold-hearted dragon give a young, handsome, influential drow like him? What a sorry follow-up you would make, pathetic, pathetic…’ _

 

Staldar feels a bit undone, his usual white-knuckled self control slipping, and he needs out. Away from Tosa. He stands abruptly, interrupting Tosa.

 

“Forgive me, Tosa. I am… feeling unwell, and would ask we dismiss for the day.”

 

“Unwell? That's rather sudden, are you alright? Should I summon a healer for you?” Tosa starts to come around his desk as if to examine Staldar himself, but the dragonborn steps back and shakes his head.

 

“No need. I will go to one.”

 

“... Very well, please take care and--” Staldar ducks out of the make-do office with a hasty ‘thank you,’ just hearing a distant sputter and “wait, Staldar!” He, of course, does not wait and heads towards the nearest exit of the base weaving quickly between other, confused Red Hand members.

 

The surface breeze of Kyla does little to soothe the hot prickle of shame he feels. With no destination in mind he picks a direction and starts walking. He barely notices his surroundings, preoccupied by all the chaos in his head and heart.

 

_ ‘Foolish old dragon. You've gone soft.’ _

 

He wanders until it grows dark, adrenaline rush finally fading, a bit more level-headed, in control. His walking had led him to the riverside and from what he can tell, at least two miles from the base. Staldar takes in the moons reflecting brightly off the water and the sounds of the trains running just off in the distance. He thinks of the view, from up on the rooftops, the moonlight in Tosa’s eyes. All the frustrations from before evaporate and his chest just… aches.

 

_ ‘You know better. You’ve been through this once already. You always want what you can’t have and it makes you miserable. You know how this ends…’ _

 

Staldar decides to sit, watch the moons rise in the sky and the stars come out, and sulk. He knows he should return to the base, but… he waits, and waits, putting it off, until finally it’s just past midnight and he’s too tired to stay out any longer. Getting up, he finds, after sitting so stiffly on the cold ground, is no fun.  _ ‘I’m getting too old for all this…’ _

 

The walk back is made much shorter than the first walk. The base has gone quiet and dark. He reaches the makeshift barracks with no incident but takes note of a group drinking and playing cards at the back (not quiet, necessarily, but not raucous either), and one in particular takes note of him, elbowing his drinking companions not so subtly.

 

“Eh, fellas, looks like our favorite lap dog is back from the pound but not out of the dog house yet,  _ har har har! _ ” They all snicker, trading looks. Staldar narrows his eyes at the drunk, bristling.

 

“And what, exactly, do you mean by that?”

 

“Don’t think we  _ aaaaall _ didn’t see that lil’ tiff between you an’ Tosa, you stormin’ off all pouty like! An’ the fact yer out here an not with him means y’all ain’t kissin’ an makin’ up tonight. So, what, ol’ pointy ears ain’t givin’ it up lately?”

 

Staldar can feel his pulse in his skull, heat rising up his neck. A low growl rumbles from somewhere in his chest, and he bares his teeth at the drunk.

 

“Watch your tongue, drunkard. I dislike your implications.”

 

The inebriate doesn’t back down, though his friends seem to grow nervous. Staldar actually begins to hear some shuffling and whispers behind him now, but watches the drunk man intently.

 

“Ya been implicatin’ yerself, ya overgrown lizard! What’s ol’ pointy ears do so well that he’s got you so completely whipped? I mean,  _ hic, _ I s’pose he  _ does _ have a nice arse, all them elves got those figures. So what is it, he let you stick it in? Yer like, part dragon or whatever, right? Bet he likes yer big ol’ dragon co--”

 

“ _ Stop _ ! Stop speaking of things you don’t understand, you drunken sot, or I’ll make you stop.” Staldar is trembling with rage, every muscle tense, ready to snap.

 

“ _ Har har!  _ Struck a nerve, ‘ave I? Everyone knows that all drow gots a reputation for being insatiable fucks! All filthy hedonists, and--  _ Hrk! _ ” The drunk doesn’t have a chance to finish their statement, as Staldar lunges across the tiny card table, scattering cards and drink everywhere with a clatter, hoisting the drunk up by his collar, feet kicking uselessly in the air, hands scrabbling against Staldar’s grip. Gasps and some shouts and murmuring start up, the two other drinkers offering placations and pleas for him to calm down, they didn't mean it, they'll stop. But Staldar’s blood boils, he sees red, ignores everything but the sweaty, distraught face in front of him. He reels back one arm, preparing a blow but a voice makes him freeze before he can throw the first strike.

 

“Staldar,  _ STOP!”  _ Tosa's alarmed voice cuts through Staldar's blind fury, and he obeys, but doesn't let go of the drunk. He wants so badly to pulverize the man in his hand until he’s nothing but a smudge on the floor. But then he feels familiar hands settle on his arm and fist. “Put him down. Now.”

 

Staldar hesitates, staring into the frightened drunk’s eyes. The man swallows and pleads, “please, listen to him, I-I’m s-sorry, really, I d-didn't--”

 

With a final growl he releases the man, who falls to the floor in a heap, and lowers his fist. The other two drinkers quickly gather up their big-mouthed friend and scurry off.

 

“Let’s talk. In the office.” Tosa’s tone brooks no argument, not that Staldar would protest. Staldar has never heard Tosa so… angry? Disappointed? Both, likely. Staldar knows he deserves it, but it still stings. Staldar turns towards Tosa, but cannot meet his eyes.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Together they head towards Tosa’s office, Staldar attempting to ignore the shuffle and hubbub and whispers around them. Many are simply displeased to have their rest interrupted, grumbling to one another.

 

When they reach Tosa's office, Staldar stands stiffly, awkwardly, not quite sure what to do with himself. Tosa resolves this dilemma for him.

 

“I'd like it if you took a seat, please.”

 

Staldar does so, a bit grateful. He is still shaking a bit from being so overwrought by sudden fury, compounded by exhaustion and other bottled up, unchecked emotions. It’s as though he’s been stitched up tight all his life, but has been slowly unraveling these past months, coming apart at the seams, and Tosa is holding a pair of scissors.

 

“I'm concerned, Staldar. You've been acting strangely for some time now. You told me you were suddenly ill, then disappeared for hours. Then you return and get into a fight. Staldar, please, as your friend,  _ talk  _ to me! I want to help you, but I can't until I know what is wrong.”

 

Staldar appears to think for just a moment, considering, opening his mouth to speak, but then shutting it again with a grimace.

 

“I’m… very sorry, Sir, I--” His voice catches, and he swallows thickly.

 

“No, no, it’s-- Here. Let’s… start with what happened out there, just now. You’re usually so reserved, I’ve never seen anyone provoke you like this.”

 

“... That was a… regrettable reaction. It has been so long since I felt that… that kind of rage. It’s not who I want to be, not anymore, but… I allowed him get the best of me. It was a moment of weakness...”

 

“And what was he saying that made you fly off the handle like that?”

 

Staldar bares his teeth in a grimace, avoiding Tosa’s gaze once more.

 

“They… don’t bear repeating…”

 

“Summarize for me? I’m just trying to understand.”

 

Staldar swallows again, finding his mouth is quite dry.

 

“He was making implications about the… nature of our relationship. He was… excessively crude, vile…”

 

“... And that was all? I hadn’t imagined you would take offense to such rumors.”

 

“No, I’ve… been aware of such rumors for some time now. They may think what they wish, that’s no concern of mine. But he made such… horrible accusations about you, and I lost my temper.”

 

Tosa sighs, raking a hand through his hair.

 

“Oh, Staldar… you needn’t-- I don’t know,  _ defend my honor _ . I don’t need you to be my white knight.” When Tosa looks back to Staldar he’s surprised to find Staldar is actually looking back, quite intensely. There’s a pause between them before Staldar speaks, voice low and quiet, gravelly.

 

“And what do you need me to be?”

 

“... I don’t understand. I don’t need-- I appreciate whatever you’re able to do or give, Staldar, whatever that may be. I ask far too much of you but--”

 

Staldar stands up, steadier now than before, and he slowly enters Tosa’s space, not exactly towering over the tall drow, but still looking down into the drow’s wide eyes. Tosa, who had been seated on the corner of his desk, shifts his posture, leaning back, some papers getting disrupted. They don’t quite touch, Staldar leaving roughly an inch between them, but his draconic warmth radiates like a furnace, and he sees Tosa shiver slightly. The dragonborn keeps his voice quiet, near-whispering. His voice and expression are plaintive. His body language is submissive, despite looming slightly, over the drow.

 

“And if I were willing to give more? What then?”

 

Tosa takes a shuddering breath, but is ultimately left speechless. Staldar continues on.

 

“If friendship is all you desire from me, you have it, gladly. If you need my blade, it is yours, just as I’ve promised on the roof that night. I don’t know if what I feel is… love. I’m ill-experienced in the art of romance… but I… For you, I would--” Staldar’s throat closes for a moment, choked by his own honesty. He turns his eyes to the floor.

 

“I am content, as we are now. Your friendship has meant… the  _ world  _ to me. But I meant what I said earlier, though I may regret how I said it; that was unfair to you. I don’t want to mislead you-- I’m an old, bitter dragonborn. I don’t know how to be… tender. Or…” Staldar grows flustered for a moment, before persisting. “Or how to be…  _ passionate.  _ But when I’m with you, I… I want to try.”

 

Tosa very gently reaches out, cupping Staldar’s chin gently, coaxing him to look at him. Staldar lets his head be guided upwards, quietly revelling in the warm, gentle touch.

 

Tosa reaches for Staldar's hand, and Staldar can’t help but compare their hands, marveling a little at how soft and slender they are compared to his own taloned, scaled fingers. Even his calluses seem soft to the dragonborn. Tosa speaks once they’re eye-to-eye once more.

 

“I don’t know what to say. I… care for you, Staldar. Perhaps as more than a friend. But I’m still… I think I need some time. I’m not ready to be with another as I was with...” Tosa’s voice is tinged with sorrow as the sentence drifts off, unfinished, but it is clear he is referring to Folduin. Staldar nods with understanding.

 

“I’m in no rush, and never will be. Even if you find that you are never ready, I’m content.”

 

“... And if I find love in someone else? How would you feel?”

 

Staldar is pained by this question, but answers honestly.

 

“I am familiar with heartache. I won’t lie and say it wouldn’t hurt. But a sorry friend I’d be if I held unrequited feelings against you.”

 

Tosa’s expression is mercurial, hard to read. He places his free hand on Staldar’s ‘cheek,’ then smiles, chuckling quietly.

 

“I would like to kiss you, but uh, I’m afraid I don’t know the best way to, er…”

 

Staldar’s heart swoops in his chest, beating hard and fast.

 

“A-ah, yes. I can’t exactly kiss you in the way you are familiar with. A dragonborn ‘kiss’ is more about closeness. I could show you… if you would like…”

 

“Yes, please. I’m curious.”

 

Staldar inches forward, closing the gap between their bodies, and slides a hand around Tosa’s back to support him, and he feels Tosa’s hands come up between them to rest on his chest. He leans down a bit, and brushes his nose along Tosa’s jawline, presses into his throat, nuzzling the spot near tosa’s ear where jaw meets neck. Staldar can just see Tosa’s white eyelashes flutter a bit, and hears him breathe out a soft “ah.” Staldar is loathe to pull away, basking in Tosa’s soft, warm proximity, a wave of the drow’s pheromones lighting up his nerve endings. But he does pull away, very slowly, dragging his muzzle back along its path.

 

“That would be the, ah…  _ chaste _ gesture, between dragonborn.”

 

“Oh? What’s the less chaste gesture?” Tosa asks, a cheeky grin on his face. Staldar stammers a bit before Tosa laughs and leans up to give him a peck on the end of his snout, quieting the flustered dragonborn. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease. Thank you for showing me. I… liked that, quite a bit.”

 

Staldar huffs, but has a hint of a smile.

 

“Rest assured, the pleasure was all mine.”

 

“It’s… been a long, hectic day for both of us. I’m sure we’re both ready to retire for the night. But I imagine you’d rather avoid the bunk room for the night, all things considered.” Staldar grimaces at the mention of the barracks.

 

“I find the thought mildly troubling.”

 

“Well, if you have no objections, you’re free to stay in my quarters tonight.”

 

“I wouldn’t wish to intrude--”   
  
“No, no, I would  _ like  _ for you to be near tonight, Staldar. You’ve been distant, lately. I’ve… missed your company.” Tosa leans his head forward to rest on staldar’s sternum and Staldar, almost on instinct, wraps his arms around him to comfort him.

 

“I’m still very sorry for that.”

 

“We can talk about it in the morning. For now, I’ll take you to bed.” Tosa’s cheeks darken at his ill thought wording. “ I mean, to sleep. Well, you’ll sleep, I’ll medit-- oh, just come with me.” Staldar lets out a low, rumbling laugh as Tosa takes his hand and guides him out of the office and toward his room.

 

Once there, Staldar moves over to the chest where he knows a bedroll is kept, to Tosa's amusement.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“You keep a spare bedroll in the chest, correct?”

 

“Wouldn't you rather sleep in the bed?”

 

“... Would I… not be displacing you?”

 

Tosa simply moves to sit on the bed and begins unlacing his boots.

 

“I have no intention of being displaced. The bed may not be particularly big, but I’m sure with some thoughtful arrangement it should hold us just fine. Unless you're partial to the bedroll?” Staldar hesitates, shifting his weight nervously, indecisively, while Tosa patiently continues to disrobe. “If you truly wish to sleep separately, I don’t mind, Staldar--”

 

“No, no, I’d much prefer the bed. Thank you.”

 

“Good, good. If it’s no trouble, would you mind starting the fire for me? Your magic is a bit quicker than a tinderbox and the night chill has crept in.” Staldar nods, and does just that.

 

“I was once skeptical of magic and its practicality. I thought its users too reliant. I was later convinced of magic’s benefits, and am glad for it.” He places a new log in the stove, which he sets alight with a hand movement. The magical little flame crackles merrily, chasing the cold away.

 

“What changed your mind?” Tosa begins putting away his discarded articles of clothing, dressed down to a soft, linen shirt and leggings. Staldar begins slowly unbuckling his belt, shucking his gambeson.

 

“Time and necessity, mostly. I had a few colleagues who encouraged me to take it up for myself. I was in a position where I had plenty of time to study and practice and found I had at least some aptitude for it.”

 

“You should demonstrate some of your magic for me sometime. I don’t believe I’ve seen the extent of your ability.”

 

“Hm. The magics I’m most familiar with are quite volatile, usually meant for the heat of battle. If I can find a safe way to show you, I’ll let you know.”

 

“I’ll hold you to that. If you’re anywhere near as skilled with arcana as you are with a blade, it should be a sight to behold!” Tosa blows out a lantern hanging on the wall, and Staldar catches a glimpse of the curve of Tosa’s lithe form from behind, underclothes hugging in flattering ways, and quickly looks away. Tosa looks over, seeing a rather nervous dragonborn, and sidles up next to Staldar, speaking softly. “I can practically hear you overthinking. Are you alright?”

 

“... I do not know how to act in this situation.”

 

“That’s okay. There’s no right answer, Staldar. What do you want to do?” Tosa reaches a hand out and gently touches one of Staldar’s shoulder blades. Staldar turns to face the drow.

 

“I would like to lie in bed and hold you… if you are amenable…”

 

“I would also like that. Come on.” With that, Tosa takes one of Staldar’s large hands in his own again, leading him over to the bed, where he motions for Staldar to settle in first. The large dragonborn lays so that his horns do not accidentally puncture holes in the pillow, and Tosa follows after, scooting in close under the blankets. Tosa’s head rests on Staldar’s shoulder, Staldar’s arm wrapping around to pull him close. Staldar gets a heady feeling, surrounded by the scent of Tosa, the weight of his body, his warmth all culminating in a feeling he never wants to stop, something he would protect with his life. Tosa hums, clinging a bit closer. “Mm. Are you always so warm?”

 

“Draconic blood. Will you be able to meditate like this?”

 

“Easily. And you? You’ll sleep comfortably?”

 

“Easily,” Staldar parrots. This is punctuated with a long yawn and a shudder. Tosa makes a sound of amusement.

 

“Good night.”

 

“Good night.”

 

Staldar does in fact sleep with unprecedented ease that night.

* * *

Staldar takes great comfort in how things do not change drastically between them, and takes joy in the little changes that do occur. Mainly, showing affection. Tosa will often surprise Stadlar with a kiss on the end of his nose, a caress of his hand, little things that make the dragonborn’s heart race a little faster for a few beats. Every few evenings or so Tosa invites Staldar to his quarters, when the nights are just too long and lonely. It is after one such night that Staldar finds himself in a predicament.

 

Staldar’s dreams, when he experiences them at all, are rarely vivid or memorable. This dream is no exception, but the nature of the dream is unusual. It’s mostly incomplete flashes, feelings, fleeting sensations-- a warm, firm body against his, a mouth whispering comforting nonsense to him, tangled limbs, rutting, slow movements turning urgent. But the dream suddenly fades, and he's blinking in the dark, disoriented. He shifts a little then realizes there  _ is  _ a body sprawled across his, which stirs. He remembers falling asleep, Tosa curled against  him, and as his eyes adjust he can just make out the white head of hair lifting from his chest.

 

“Good morning,” Tosa whispers up at him.

 

“Mmm, ‘morning,” Staldar rasps back. He starts to stretch, but then realizes a certain part of his anatomy is also very awake and straining against his smallclothes. He sits upright with a jolt, legs sliding off the bed, Tosa slipping off with a confused “umf!” The drow sits up in kind and reaches out, touching Staldar’s arm.

 

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

 

“Ah, sorry. I’m fine, I just-- I overslept, so I’m late for my morning routines.”

 

“I see. Could I perhaps convince you to lay with me just a little longer, since you’re late anyways?” Tosa pointedly snakes his arms around Staldar, resting his head on Staldar’s shoulder, anchoring the dragonborn to the bed. Staldar chuckles nervously, attempting to unsuccessfully shrug off Tosa’s hold.

 

“Tempting though your offer may be, I’m not so easily swayed.”

 

“Oh? Well, I’m just as stubborn as you are, and I refuse to let you up without a fight!” Staldar is given no time to react as Tosa’s arms suddenly contract around him and he is pulled back onto the bed with a deft movement, bed creaking threateningly. Despite his strength and size, Staldar finds himself pinned face-down to the mattress, Tosa laughing against his back, pressing kisses into his shoulder blade. Everything about this moment makes Staldar’s head swim-- held down, surrounded by his  _ inamorato _ , erection trapped between him and the body-warmed bedding, it makes a primitive part of him chant “ _ submit, submit, submit…” _

 

Tosa’s laughter and kisses fade as he realizes Staldar has gone very still under him.

 

“I thought you weren’t so easily swayed,” Tosa whispers, still teasing in a playful tone. Staldar turns his head so he can just see Tosa in the gloom.

 

“I, uh, am rather compromised…”

 

“ … Compromised?” Tosa lifts himself so that he now hovers over Staldar, and the dragonborn shifts his hips gratefully to relieve some of the friction against his member. Staldar still struggles to express himself, even to Tosa, but more and more he finds it simpler to be frank with the drow, so with a cough, Staldar confesses his current state.

 

“I am very aroused.”

 

“... Ah.” Tosa pauses, watching Staldar closely for just a moment, before continuing. “What would you like to happen from here?”

 

Staldar decides to turn face Tosa more directly, despite the tinge of embarrassment he feels, and the drow leans back, not quite putting is full weight on Staldar’s thighs.

 

“I would normally simply ignore it, go about my day…” Staldar’s clawed hands twitch on the bedding, itching to touch Tosa, but his nerves get the better of him. Tosa ‘ _ tsk’ _ s, but is smiling warmly down at him. Staldar faintly remembers that drow can see extremely well in the dark, and feels all the more vulnerable.

 

“Such a waste that would be. Is that really what you want?”

 

“I’m… not sure what I want.”

 

“Mm. Then let me propose a counter offer,” Tosa says, voice going low and deep, and he brings his hands to rest on Staldar’s chest, rubbing gently. “I kiss and touch you and see where that leads, and if you decide that’s not what you want, then we’ll stop. Does that sound like something you want?”

 

Staldar swallows hard.

 

“I find that… amenable.”

 

“Good.”

 

Tosa leans down and presses a soft kiss to the end of Staldar’s nose as he often does, hands coming up to rest just under his eyes, cupping his face. Staldar lets his own hands come up to rest on Tosa’s hips, which inch forward. He nuzzles Tosa’s jaw as softly as he can with his tough snout, and the drow’s scent makes his mouth fall open a little, practically tasting Tosa’s arousal, and then decides he does want a taste. He gives a single, soft lap at the soft skin of Tosa’s jugular, causing the drow to gasp. Tosa tastes very clean, only slightly sweat salted from sleeping so near to him, but overwhelmingly, he tastes of carnal excitement,  _ want want want _ . Staldar wants to stay there for the rest of his life, breathing in Tosa like smoke, letting his tongue get to know him all the better, but Tosa pulls back to look Staldar in the eyes.

 

“I want to try something. It might be a little odd, but I think it will be nice. Follow my lead?” 

 

Staldar nods and makes a rumbling sound of affirmation. Tosa smiles at him, then tilts his head, pressing his lips to Staldar’s closed mouth. Despite not being able to mirror the gesture exactly, the press of warm, soft lips makes his heart flutter. Then, Tosa surprises him, tongue darting out to trace along the line of his mouth. A little confused, but deciding to go along with this, Staldar parts his mouth just a tad and lets his tongue meet Tosa’s.

 

 

Tosa is right-- this is a little strange, not  _ wrong _ , but exciting and intimate in a foreign way to Staldar’s more draconic senses. Tosa makes a pleased sound, a soft moan, and oh, yes, if Tosa continues to make sounds like  _ that _ , then Staldar could humor him like this forever. Staldar actually finds he’s fascinated by Tosa’s soft, wet, little tongue and the way it flicks against his. Emboldened by Tosa’s sighs and moans, Staldar lets his tongue explore Tosa’s mouth, wrapping the smaller organ with his own larger, more dexterous one. Tosa gasps, moaning into Staldar’s maw, arching against the dragonborn, their clothed erections meeting, and the sensation makes Staldar squeeze Tosa’s hips hard, a sound like a growl rising from his throat. Tosa, reluctantly, pulls his face away, breaths coming more shallow now.

 

“Gods, your tongue-- it’s so different, I love it, so warm and _long,_ oh _,_ the things you could _do_ \--!” Tosa punctuates all this with trailing kisses down Staldar’s face to his neck, hands roaming all over now, hips grinding down a little more insistently. Staldar pants, shuddering, his own hands sliding under Tosa’s shirt to feel up his abdomen, his back. He’s careful not to use his claws, be gentle, so gentle, ‘ _gods, how do they manage, they’re so fragile, so delicate!’_ Staldar is lost in his thoughts, lost in watching Tosa, when the drow looks up and speaks again. “I want to see you. All of you. Is that okay?”

 

Staldar pauses at the question, suddenly very nervous. It wasn’t as though they had not seen one another undressed in some degree or manner, and Staldar typically isn’t body shy, but this is very different. For one, Staldar is sure he’d never seen Tosa bare past the waist, and as far as Staldar could remember, Tosa had similarly never seen him without at least smallclothes on.

 

But then he thinks about Tosa, nude, over him, just like this, all smooth, pliable skin, long limbs, and he wants that, very badly.

 

“You, also. I want to see you, too,” Staldar manages to choke out. Tosa grins again, then takes Staldar’s wrists guiding his hands the hem of his shirt.

 

“Would you do the honors?” Tosa is coy, tilting his head coquettishly, and it makes something flare in Staldar, the need flip Tosa onto his back, tear his shirt off with his claws and  _ take _ , but his need to be good for Tosa, be gentle, be careful, is much, much louder. He slowly pushes the shirt up Tosa’s chest, revealing small, dark nipples, and briefly stops to look and touch. He swipes the pad of a large, rough thumb over one of the nubs, curious, and delights at Tosa’s hiss and jerk at the sensation. This time he rubs both firmly, and the drow gasps and arches, hands jumping up to cup Staldar’s.

 

“ _ Fuck _ , ahh-- those are sensitive, you brute. Stop teasing and undress me.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Staldar wastes no time after that, and promptly pulls the shirt up and over Tosa’s head, who helpfully raises his arms. Then, with more assistance, Tosa is bare, and Staldar does not understand how such being could even look in his direction. Blessed with elven beauty, Tosa looks like a painting to Staldar. Even the few little scars, delicate lines on his skin, like an etching, charcoal,  _ chiaroscuro _ . Beautiful. He says as much. And Tosa’s twitching, dusky member definitely catches his attention, pale hand sliding up Tosa’s thigh, wanting to touch more. “May I…?”

 

Tosa just leans down to press a little kiss to his nose.

 

“Ah-ah. My turn.”

 

Staldar leans forward so Tosa can pull the linen shirt up, hands trailing up the smoother scales of Staldar’s front. “Lovely,” he murmurs, making Staldar squirm, almost believing him. Shirt discarded, Staldar lays back and shivers when Tosa begins to undo the ties of his leggings, before scooting backwards to pull them off. Staldar’s length springs from its confines, pink, twitching, and slowly weeping from prolonged arousal. It’s fairly long, but tapers from a thin, pointed tip down to a ruddy, distended base. Tosa makes a surprised, intrigued expression at the sight of it. “Oh. That’s rather different. I… don’t know what I expected.” He laughs a little, mostly at himself, but Staldar feels vulnerable, a bit too flayed open for his liking, and deflects.

 

“I understand if it’s… off-putting, for you. You don’t have to--”

 

“Staldar, you have no idea the effect you have on others, do you,” Tosa interrupts, suddenly crouching low to lay on his stomach, supported by his elbows, hands stroking Staldar’s thighs. “I want to touch you. A lot. Right now. Is that okay?” The dragonborn is shocked into silence for a moment before whispering a hoarse “ _ yes. _ ” “Good.”

 

Tosa wastes no time, trailing his fingers in a gossamer like touch up the long, flushed shaft. Staldar hisses, body tense like a bow string, his hands grasping at the sheets, trying not to puncture the bedding with his claws. Tosa hums happily, and begins stroking in earnest, slowly, earning a shudder, a groan, a flex.

 

“It’s so interesting. And when its, ah, not in use, so to speak, it’s inside here?” Tosa teases the base, running a finger along the slit, and Staldar feels as if he’ll go mad, skin far to hot, tight, warmth coiling in his abdomen.

 

“Y-yes, it’s normally resting internally. Now please, you begged me not to tease,  _ Tosa _ \--”

 

“Mmm, sorry, sorry, you’ve been so good, doing so well, let me take care of you…” Tosa stretches out, one hand traveling up Staldar’s belly, the other still dutifully stroking, but then Tosa brings his lips to the swollen, sensitive bulb, kissing, licking, sucking. Staldar goes very quiet, closing his eyes, breathing hard, unable to stop his hips from bucking, back arching, one hand reaching out instinctively to cup Tosa’s head. The sight of Tosa, watching the dragonborn from between his legs, so lovingly tending to him, it’s too much,  _ too much _ \--! “So sensitive, so responsive, who would have thought,” Tosa murmurs, half to himself, lips still brushing over the dewy flesh of his sex.

 

Staldar does not try to guide Tosa’s movements, does not push or pull, but his fingers card through the silver-white locks. Tosa hums, which Staldar feels, and gasps, and he doesn’t notice when hand roaming over his middle drifts to his scarred side, and before he knows it’s happening, Tosa squeezes his hand in what would normally be a soothing gesture. But for Staldar, he jerks, violently, eyes shooting wide open at the pinch, and he’s hurt,  _ it hurts _ , he’s on the ground, cold, shuddering, bleeding. His body tenses and relaxes in waves, his vision cuts in and out, and he hears a voice in the distance, calling for him. “--ldar, Staldar, come back to me, come on, it’s alright, you’re alright--” And then he blinks, it’s dark, and blinks again.

 

Tosa’s distressed face is the first thing he comprehends, worried eyes meeting his own. He trembles, and realizes he has Tosa’s wrist and a fistful of hair in vice like grips, which he immediately releases with a gasp. Tosa, as soon as Staldar lets go, leans up to soothe the dragonborn, who flinches a little but accepts the comforting caresses.

 

“Shhh, shhh, you’re safe, you’re safe. I’m so sorry, Staldar, I got carried away, I should have been more careful, we didn’t talk about boundaries and we should have. Talk to me, tell me what you’re feeling. Let me know you’re here with me still.”

 

Staldar’s voice is hoarse and shaky when he speaks.

 

“I could have hurt you, just then, Tosa, I--”

 

“No, no, hey, shhh, look. Look at me. You didn’t hurt me, Staldar. You’ve been so good all morning, you’ve never hurt me, and I trust that you won’t ever hurt me.”

 

“... And if I don’t trust myself…?” Staldar counts his breaths, trying stay grounded. He counts it a feat that they’re both still erect after that, though his arousal flags slightly under the stress.

 

“Well, you trust me, don’t you?”

 

“...Yes. I trust you.”

 

“Good. What would you like to do? We can stop, if that was too much.”

 

Staldar thinks for a moment, still taking measured breaths. He still feels doubtful, but Tosa’s touches and kind expression are soothing, and he does trust the man, more than anyone. And as he calms, he rediscovers the thread of desire still burning in him.

 

“I would like to continue, please,” he intones softly. Tosa smiles, and kisses Staldar all over the side of his face.

 

“I want to keep you here, with me, in this moment, and I have some ideas that may help. I want you to do as I say. Can you do that? Will you be good for me?” Staldar sighs under Tosa ministrations, taking in his sultry voice.

 

“Yes. I want to be good for you.”

 

Tosa takes Staldar’s big hands in his own and guides them up over the dragonborn’s head, and touches them to the wooden bedframe.

 

“Don’t let go of this unless I tell you to, understand?” Staldar shivers hard under Tosa, thrilling a bit at being held like this.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“You’re so polite. Also, I want keep your eyes on me, always. Don’t look away, don’t close your eyes. Focus on me and what I’m doing to you; I want your undivided attention. Can you do that?”

 

“Yes, yes--!”

 

Tosa kisses his way down Staldar’s pale, heaving chest, hands moving to wrap around the now spit-slicked cock. With a flirtatious kiss to the dripping head, Tosa parts his lips, taking an impressive length of him into his throat. Staldar makes a guttural, animal sound, a croon, followed a litany of draconic curses, praises, endearments roll off his tongue. “ _ Damn, damn, you are so perfect, so beautiful, my own, my mate--!”  _ Tosa just hums and bobs, hands stroking what he can’t reach with his mouth, all heat, pressure, wet, smooth. It’s filthy and beautiful and Staldar feels as though he is burning from the inside out, the flames stoking higher and higher. He knows he can't last. “ _ I am close, I very am close, I need, I need--- my mate!”  _ His voice breaks and all words escape him.

 

Tosa pulls off for just a moment, also breathing fast and shallow, commands Staldar, in only slightly rough draconic, “ _ Come for me, _ ” before taking as much of Staldar’s length as he can into his throat, and squeezing  _ just so _ around the swollen base.

 

Staldar makes a broken sound, a sound like an aborted roar, a cross between a growl and a shout, and he bucks, curls, knees coming up around Tosa’s head, a faint ‘ _ riiiiip’ _ can be heard as his talon like toes rake across the mattress and sheets. Wood gives way under his claws, gauging the bed frame, but he still does not remove his hands. Every muscle in him flexes, and all he knows is heat, and release, and it’s almost painful. Tosa holds him through it all, like an anchor, swallowing around him as he spills and spills, convulsing. Just when he feels as though he's on the edge of passing out, overwrought, he starts coming down, melting into the sheets, basking in the echoes of pleasure that radiate through his limbs. Still, through it all, he holds onto the bed frame, and watches Tosa as he pulls off with a gasp, making Staldar shudder.

 

“Gods, Staldar, please touch me, please--” And almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Staldar lurches up, and drags Tosa to him so they are chest to chest, hot, rough hands touching as much of the drow as they can. Tosa pants, and Staldar takes advantage of his parted lips, slipping his tongue between them, tasting himself on Tosa’s breath, and he can’t help feeling a swell of something between pride and possessiveness.  _ My mate, my mate--! _

 

Tosa whines, muffled by Staldar’s exploring tongue, rutting against his stomach, arms draped over the dragonborns broad shoulders, hands grasping at his back. Staldar pulls back only to duck down, licking sweat off Tosa’s collarbone, and it’s all he can do not to bite, mark, claim. Instead, he redirects that desire to better purposes.

 

“I want to taste you,” he growls into Tosa’s throat.

 

“ _ Fuck,  _ yes, I want that, I want you.”

 

Staldar wastes no time, guiding Tosa to lay on his back so his head just hangs off the foot of the bed, while he crouches on his knees, supporting Tosa’s hips with his hands, licking his way down Tosa’s chest, teasing one nipple along the way.

 

When Staldar reaches Tosa’s twitching prick, he can’t help but find it a little… cute. The red-purple bellend is particularly enticing, so encircles it with his tongue. Tosa groans and rolls his hips, urging Staldar on. Staldar just grips his hips tighter, holding him in place, stroking his tongue along the underside of the shaft languidly. Then he is struck with an idea.

 

Staldar stops his attentions for a moment, much to Tosa’s disappointment, then curiosity as Staldar takes Tosa’s knees and throws them over his shoulders.

 

“I’d like for you to hold onto my horns.”

 

Tosa’s glazed expression turns very surprised, then excited, and he does so, caressing Staldar’s face along the way before gripping the horns at their bases. Finally, Staldar returns to the task at hand.

 

He parts his jaws wide enough to keep his sharp teeth  _ well _ away from the vulnerable cock before surrounding it the heat of his maw, nose pressing into the soft area just below the drow’s stomach. He uses his tongue to writhe and press along the underside while the head rubs against his soft palate. Tosa, worked up as he is, does not take very long to completely unravel, practically thrashing in Staldar’s grip.

 

“Oh, Staldar,  _ oh--” _ Tosa babbles, crying out something Staldar doesn’t understand, and then he feels the member in his mouth pulse, spending across his tongue. Staldar attempts to swallow what he can, but with his mouth as awkwardly open as it is, the drow’s seed drips down, only to get quickly lapped back up. Staldar takes some time making sure that he licks up every drop until Tosa tugs on his horns, attempting to pull his head up, gasping out a “too much, oh, enough, please...”

 

Staldar sits up with a rumbling sound of pleasure, Tosa’s legs falling to either side of him, his arms dropping limply around his shoulders. Tosa laughs, out of breath, leaning into Staldar’s chest.

 

“Gods, I can’t feel my limbs, that was so… your  _ tongue _ …” Staldar gives a gravelly laugh, rubbing soothing circles into the drows back.

 

“I could say the same. I was worried you’d suck the life right out of me.”

 

“Here, lay back and hold me, I don’t plan on getting up anytime soon.”

 

They settle back onto the bed, Tosa draping himself lethargically across Staldar, humming thoughtfully for a moment.

 

“I feel like everyday you surprise me, Staldar. Every time I think I have you pinned down, you defy expectations.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Quite. Who would have thought under that cool exterior is such a responsive, attentive lover?” Then Tosa raises his head to face Staldar. “Tell me, honestly, is it…  _ always  _ so intense for you? I thought you were going to buck me right off at one point. And, ahah, I’m pretty sure you ripped holes into the sheets.”

 

Staldar’s expression goes bashful and he coughs.

 

“Ah, ah, apologies for that. And I couldn’t really tell you if it’s always like that.”

 

“You couldn’t-- So, what, you’ve never… with anyone?”

 

“No. Never with anyone else. Never at all.”

 

“...  _ At all _ ? Not even alone? You’re jesting.”

 

“Ah, no. At least, not including the, ah, nocturnal emissions of adolescence.”

 

“Gods.  _ Gods _ , Staldar, I can’t imagine how pent up you must have felt!”

 

“Mm. I could see how you might see it that way. I find that it simply does not occupy my thoughts the way it seems to for others.” Staldar pauses for moment, eyes not quite meeting Tosa’s. “My feelings towards you are… an exception to the rule.”

 

“Then… I feel honored to have shared that experience with you.” Tosa buries his face in the crook of Staldar's neck and shoulder. Staldar gives another rumbling sound of pleasure, arms wrapping around the drow.

 

“The honor is all mine.”

 

They lay quietly like this for some time, and Staldar begins to doze when a thought occurs to him.

 

“I didn't know you knew draconic.”


End file.
